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My Obituary for UCLA Football

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Strangely, I’m OK with it.

I mean, I’m NOT OK with it. I’m full of fury, anguish, and despair. But more than that, I feel resignation. I’m tired. And I’ve come to terms with all of it.

UCLA football is dead to me.

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It’s not that I’m disowning the program. I’m still gonna support the team; my blood will always run Bruin blue. It’s just that I’m no longer going to pour myself into the team like I have been these past few years. I’m moving on with my life. I can finally accept that the program - under the leadership of Karl Dorrell - has been buried. I have emerged from the five stages of grief, and now I’m at peace.

This isn’t the first time my relationship with UCLA football has died. During the last couple of games of the Bob Toledo era, I made a similar vow. Fortunately, the administration was on the same page and got rid of him soon after. Unfortunately, it replaced him with Dorrell.

I forced myself to start fresh, let our relationship be reborn, even though I was skeptical about whether the program was alive once again. Over the course of Dorrell’s five-year tenure, I’ve seen all the telltale signs that suggested this death was imminent; I just chose to hold on to some slivers of hope that the team provided every so often by winning a game it wasn’t supposed to. Even as I’ve been calling for his dismissal for the last several weeks, I still went out and gave my all as a fan.

But now, I, like many of my counterparts in Bruin Nation, can acknowledge with absolute certainty that our spirit has been permanently crushed (well, at least until a new coach revives it); that whatever life, momentum, hope, optimism, and promise that survived the losses to Utah and Notre Dame, and was revived by the win over Cal, was extinguished by this humiliating loss to Washington St.